Left Behind
by Boltrig
Summary: This is a story I wrote when I came across the idea of a feghoot; A story that ends with a pun or joke usually terrible . So here it be.


So frakking hot.

I'm lurking in the shade of the battered and bruised chimera thats been doing its best to lug me and what remained of the platoon across the barren wasteland of Sarak, the largest, dryest, most inhospitable desert plain on Arcadia 102.

I take off my scratched and dented chest armour and toss it into the dust by the road. No doubt those feth wipes at the Commissariat will execute me for unauthorised disposal of Departmento Munitorium property, but right now, standing under the blistering sun, sweating precious fluids into my blood stained tunic, I'd welcome it.

I'd seen hell this last week. Part of a mass charge of armour and infantry intent on dislodging the Ork positions in the foothills, 60 miles north of the main Imperial city.

Yeah, that was a good idea.

Thousands of men and hundreds of tanks and APCs funneld into a seething, grinding, choking mass of metal and fire in the valleys and canyons. The Imperial brass had underestimated the greenskins again.

I turn and pace wearily round to the rear of the wrecked tank and grip the already scalding rungs of the access ladder. Heaving myself up onto the roof I cant help but sigh as I address the two grease covered men already toiling at the engine hatch.

"So whats the score here?" I asked, wearily.

"Its bad Sargeant." replies corporal Nobbs. "The coolant pipes have shattered. The engine is only going to get worse from here on in."

"Can you repair them?" I ask, knowing the response already.

"No sir. We can … well Smiley can remove them but we need to find some way of connecting the two ends of the pipes."

I have to close my eyes for a moment

_And see the first explosions ripple into the convoy. Mighty Leman Russ tanks tearing open like orange roses as their munitions detonated. Spindly legged sentinels tossed into the air, limbs flailing._

I jerk my eyes open, and nearly topple off the flank of the carrier.

"You OK sir?"

"Fine. Just a little dehydrated." Im severely dehydrated, to the point of hallucinations, but Im not telling them that. Theyve got little enough cause for hope without what remains of command having fantasies and collapsing in front of them.

"So. Is there any equipment you can tear out of the hull that can be used to fix the coolant pipes?"

"Nothing I can think of, sir, but tearing stuff out of the hull is a pretty good idea. The lighter we are the better."

That look. I can see it every time he moves. His arm is killing him, but hes refused painkiller tabs. He says he needs to keep the tank operational. Im wondering which one will fail first. Him or the tank. Either way were frakked.

He dies and the tank stops working ... we're dead.

The tank breaks down beyond repair ... we're dead.

Just need to pray to the Emperor that both can hold out till our personal vox casters can raise the city, or a lookout spots us.

Its such a frakking stupid scenario. I can see the column of black smoke behind us, all thats left of the first strike force.

I can see the white walls of the city in front of us. I want to just reach out and touch it. If I close my eyes its almost as if I could see...

_The wall of fire immolating all in its path as it came closer. The buck and heave of the troop truck I was riding in. The feeling of weightlessness as I was thrown out of my seat. The slab of armour coming down... Darkness._

But opening my eyes its still too far away. But I need to focus.

"Right. Smiley, Nobbs. Keep at it. Remove those pipes and keep thinking of things that could be used to connect the ends. Ill get everyone else to work stripping equipment out."

They nod and set about doing what they can. I feel worst for Nobbs. I knew him personally out of all the walking wounded here. He loved getting his hands dirty in amongst an engine, a vox pack, a heavy bolter. Anything mechanical.

If he's luck those medical whizzes in the city or in the Infirmary might be able to give him an augmetic, but he'll never be the same.

Slumping down onto the ground, I try to muster some enthusiasm before I talk to the troops. They need their strength, and working in this sun is going to be backbreaking, but it needs to be done.

"Ya know, I dont really like this look. I fancy a convertible."

Their dust caked and smeared faces stare blankly back at me.

"Tear off those roof panels! Ditch the extra stowage! Toss the tow chains into the dunes! We need to make this crate lighter, and id like to avoid leaving any of you by the side of the road if possible!"

They finally get my drift and start hauling themselves out of the shade with various groans, yelps of pain and assorted grumbling.

"One man... Rameiro! Your on lookout. Everyone else ditch your armour. I reckon were safe from those green bastards now!"

I wish I felt as confident of that as I sounded.

"Rotate on a half hour basis." I tell them, picking up an engineers wrench. Some mindless repetative task might take my mind off of the thirst. The heat. The situation.

"SMILEY!" I yell up to the driver. He sticks his head up from the engine cowling, his bandage stained with engine grease and coolant as well as a few flecks of blood.

"Yessir?"

"How many smoke grenades have we got."

"Er. None sir. Not issued for this mission."

I summon what strength I can and swing the heavy wrench at the launcher on the hull next to me. One of the tubes comes off with a clang. I swing again. The strains alreay getting to me. Its too hot for this kind of work, but needs must. On the third swing the metal shears away from the hull and the whole construct lands in the sand with a thump.

"Thats the kind of workmanship I want. Simple and brutal. No points for it looking nice! Smiley, how many rounds are left for the autocannon?"

"Do you need to ask, sir?"

Well thats me sorted for a while. Cramped in the cabin trying to get the turret off its ring.

I swing myself up and into the cabin. Hot and rank. Im dreading this.

OK, obviously this is going to take more than sheer brute force to shift, so I start looking for locking bolts and the like.

I hear Smiley swear from above me and the hatch clangs shut. Its pitch black. I cant see 2 inches in front of me. Without functioning auditory systems all the sounds from outside are muffled. Like they were coming through

_2 inches of slab tank armour, lying on top of me. I can hear voices. The relief crews. Here to salvage what men and machines they can. _

_My feeble tapping. _

_Help._

_Help._

_A light..._

_Turning my head, I see a medic._

"_Too far gone! Mark the armour for possible body retrie..."_

_And he's gone._

I begin fumbling in my pockets, looking for a lux-pack.

A chem stick.

A frakking match!

Anything that gives light. Anything but the dark. I close my fingers around the lho-stick lighter in my thigh pouch and bring it out. Holding it in front of me I click the igniter.

_Light!_

_And the pressure on my chest dissapearing. Feth that hurts!_

"_Its a Sarge!" a voice is saying._

_More walking wounded. More the medics missed. Or dismissied._

"Sarge! You OK?"

The hatch is back open and Nobbs is peering in at me. I can only imagine how pathetic I look. Huddled in the middle of the cabin, wrench abandoned on the deck, clutching at a lighter like a talisman.

Scared of the dark.

"Fine, Nobbs. Keep at it." I tell him. Looking resolutely at the locking bolt in front of me... I cant meet his eye. I wrench the bolt out, the last one. Should be it.

"We think weve got something, sir." he volunteers.

Clambering out of the turret hatch, I start kicking at the turret. Inch by inch it shifts till it clangs over the side and kicks up a cloud of dust and sand. That at least raises a raggedy round of applause from the men.

"What've you got?" I turn back to the engine, sweating more precious fluids away.

"Weve got a clean join point at both ends" Says Smiley. "If we police up the men's hydration pack straws, we can run one for the coolant flow, and one for the return. Theyre not rated for it, but if we can run slow enough, we can run till the straws burst from heat or acidity, kill the flow and swap the two of them out. It should get us in range of the city."

Frak. I can hear more phantom shouting. No wait. Thats Rameiro.

"What is it trooper?" The look on his face terrifies me just to look at!

"Sir, the column of smoke from the canyon, Its moving. And I can hear engines revving..."

That only means one thing. The frakking greenskins.

"No time to spare then," I announce, trying to maintain a veneer of calm. "Everyone! Stop work. Grab whatever weapons youve got and get on board. Pass your hydration pack straws up to Smiley and any spares youve got. WE ARE LEAVING!"

I scramble up onto the now open topped Chimera. The deck lurches under me as we begin to pick up speed, the last of the men running alongside for a second before diving onto the buckeld and scorched plating next to me.

"SIR!" calls Smiley. "Thats a rupture already. We pushed it too hard at the start!"

I can feel the huge machine grinding to a halt. Weve barely gone 300 yards. I need to keep them calm.

"Smiley, get the straws changed" I shout, as he plucks 2 straws from the pouch next to him. Everyone else, eyes on!"

I lead the way, eyes scanning the horizon through the sights of my Lasgun, looking for any sign of greenskin outriders.

Its painful waiting. It seems like hours before Smiley calls down. Weve got it, sir. Ready to go again!

"Take it easy this time," I call, grabbing hold of the mangled ramp frame for support.

We make it a lot further this time, till again the straws burst, leaking precious coolant, and Nobbs and Smiley take to the task of swapping the 2 burnt, or melted, or mangled straws for 2 fresh ones.

Finally. Thats the outer marker we've passed. Another mile or so and we'll be in communications range.

I can feel the hope rising in me, but the cloud on the horizon is looking bigger all the time. How long till they catch us? Will we have enough time to call in our presence and scramble a Navy interceptor? Will they care enough to send the navy?

"Burst!" Shouts Nobbs, Smiley having lost his voice after all the shouting of the last terrifying hour or 2.

"You know what to do! One final push and we'll be there! Theres medi-cots and cold sacra waiting for you in the city. Get to it!"

I mean it too, this time. Im not just trying to keep the morale up. The next time we get moving we'll move into comms range.

"CONTACT!" Shouts Sisko. "Sir we've got Ork bikes coming up fast! Theyll be on us in minutes!"

"Sir."

"Hold fire. Wait till you can pick your targets."

"Sir..."

I scan my lasgun left and right across the road. The Orks are advancing in a wide line. Feth theres a lot of them.

"Sir!"

I dont even turn round.

"Nobbs, dont try talking to me now! Change those 2 warp-damned straws and get us moving!"

"Sir..."

I click. The defeat in his voice. The time wasting. As the first Ork shells begin pinging off the hull, I slowly turn around. I see Nobbs. The single straw in his hand.

"Sir," he repeats. "Thats the last straw"


End file.
